She scribes solemn statements upon the stones surrounding her. She’s miserable. I can tell by the way she saunters ever so slightly down a corridor of shadows. When sets of eyes are not staring her down, she attempts to erode the silver silhouettes, slightly, as she splashes serenely, slapping the masonry that confines her slender, streamlined body. The silver sun starts to rest.
I am the only one near her. My feet are hanging above her bedrock swaying in the nighttime breeze, As she silently flows away. Dejected, she is not. At least for the moment, when the last bit of hoary twilight sheds light upon us both. Comments are closed.
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Editorial Staff
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